


tell me we don't look good together

by lightningbend



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Romance, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mingyu & wonwoo throughout the years: a story of how minwon got their shit together, predebut meanie, the iconic xx stage that saved gay rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningbend/pseuds/lightningbend
Summary: q: what would you do if you could do anything without fear?a: tell him you love him.





	tell me we don't look good together

 

sometimes, when mingyu forgets himself, all else fading into soft focus as his eyes stray to wonwoo ( _always_ , inevitably, to wonwoo), he feels the ache sear right through his chest.

sometimes, wonwoo will swing his arm around him in group photos, tuck his chin over his shoulder when they’re crowded together in a quiet moment in between broadcasts and filming, and the world momentarily tilts, off-kilter.

the beginning and the end blurs into the one escher sketch, how and when and where it all began impossible to say, even more difficult to describe.

these are the only things he knows with any certainty:

i. the spaces between his fingers when wonwoo curls his fingers through them feel like they were made for him, like pieces of him perfectly carved out for wonwoo

ii. he finds his hand seeking out wonwoo’s hand: constantly, restlessly. finds his hands wandering to wonwoo even for just the brush of his fingertips, the press of his thumb against wonwoo’s palm. he’s always been innately tactile, always expressed fondness and affection and adoration for the people he calls his through touch. with wonwoo, it’s never enough

iii.he never wants to let go

 

 

\-----

 

 

mingyu meets wonwoo when he’s barely 160cm. he’s taller than wonwoo by an inch, and thinks he’s the hyung upon first impression. he remembers liking him from the first moment they met, some inexplicable affinity and instant attachment to the other boy.

he looks at him, his slender frame, all angles from his bones to his dark, crescent-shaped eyes and the sharpness of them that’ll make him look strikingly handsome and effortlessly cool in a few years time. mingyu takes to feeding wonwoo very seriously.

 _“have you eaten? want to eat with hyung?”_ he asks, bright and eager, and generous like any good hyung should be.

“ _i’m the hyung_ ,” wonwoo replies smoothly, cutting him off with this impatient press of his lips. mingyu just laughs, says he’s hungry and that _wonwoo-hyung_ can take him out for food instead. wonwoo’s expression freezes for a moment, and then softens, like ice caps melting under the sheer heat of the sun.

wonwoo treats him to lunch. and just like that, wonwoo gains his own gravitational orbit in mingyu’s life.

wherever wonwoo goes, mingyu goes, too, the members would joke. usually trailing a step behind wonwoo, or making his way all across the room, tugged helplessly into wonwoo’s gravity, to tease wonwoo, or poke wonwoo, or tell wonwoo something funny that happened earlier that day.

it isn’t too soon to say mingyu adores wonwoo. wonwoo, at the very least, he knows, adores him, too.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

“hyung, you’re so _loud_ ,” mingyu whines, frustration weighing at his voice as he slumps beside wonwoo and his computer. technically, this isn’t even his room, but he’s _bored_ and in the mood to disrupt someone from their unscheduled free time.

wonwoo ignores him, tapping aggressively at his keyboard and jerking as his character on-screen leaps off a building, or attacks an enemy player, and pulls out a weapon, or something.

“ _beside! beside!_  c’mon, _fuck_  — ”

mingyu lets out a protracted sigh, flopping a little more pointedly onto his side, arm flung out in front of him and his forehead pressed down into his arm.

“ _hyuuung._ ”

wonwoo hums, nudging at his side with an elbow after a few moments, which is the only acknowledgement mingyu gets.

“have you even eaten yet, hyung?” mingyu asks. “let me guess, you were probably too busy gaming the whole day and forgot to eat. what did i tell you about remembering to eat?!”

wonwoo’s eyes flicker away from the screen and he shoots mingyu a small, chagrined smile, one that’s cut short when he bites out a yelp and surges forwards in his seat before someone kills him in-game or whatever.

“you want to eat ramyeon? i could make some.” mingyu offers, turning his head to face wonwoo.

wonwoo nods, attention still fixed on the screen. “sure, gyu. that’d be gre —  _ahh_ , shit. _beside!_ ”

mingyu rolls his eyes but gets up to his feet and heads to the kitchen to begin cooking. when he comes back half an hour or so later with two bowls of ramyeon, wonwoo’s eyes are narrowed in deep concentration. mingyu sits beside him, taking one of the bowls and measuring out a mouthful of ramyeon with his chopsticks.

he shoves it in the direction of wonwoo’s lips, waiting patiently before wonwoo blinks and realises he’s got food in front of him.

wonwoo snorts, but opens his mouth nonetheless so mingyu can feed him. mingyu takes bites of his own ramyeon in between, patiently lifting the chopsticks to wonwoo’s mouth so he can swallow as he plays his game. it’s a little ridiculous, and there’s nothing stopping wonwoo from pausing his damn game and _eating the ramyeon himself_ but —  _well_ , mingyu doesn’t mind.

at the next bite wonwoo swallows only to let a streak of soup slip from his lips, staining his chin as he lets out a muffled grunt. mingyu flat out _giggles_ , watching wonwoo suffer for a moment as he struggles with his mouthful of food and the soup dripping down his face, before going to find tissues.

“ _aigoo_ , hyung. look at you. such a messy eater,” he scolds, clicking his tongue as he wipes at wonwoo’s face for him. “who’s the dongsaeng in this relationship again? maybe _you_ should be calling _me_ hyung.”

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you, _mingyu-sunbaenim_?” wonwoo drawls.

mingyu sniffs, “you should be more grateful, hyung. you don’t see me doing this for any of the _other_ members.”

“no,” wonwoo agrees, eyes glinting, a small catlike smile curling around the corners of his mouth. “i don’t.”

“and i regret it already, shut up.” mingyu mutters, shoving at wonwoo and that stupid look on his face. “you can pay me back for this by buying me a meal. i wanna eat _meat_. expensive meat.”

“fine,” wonwoo concedes. “but only because that was really good ramyeon.”

mingyu beams, face lighting up immediately with the compliment. “ah, really? i’m touched, hyung.”

wonwoo huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he slides his headphones back onto his head. when mingyu’s finished with his food, he stacks their bowls together, balancing the chopsticks over the top. post-food drowsiness is making his movements sluggish, and the idea of making the trip to his own room seems like too much of an inconvenience to consider. mingyu purses his lips, folding his arms beneath his head as he sighs at wonwoo.

“hyung, ’m tired.”

“and what do you want me to do about that?”

“be quiet so i can take a nap,” mingyu replies easily. wonwoo’s gaze slants down to where mingyu has his head sprawled on the desk beside him. he shifts in his seat, and mingyu watches, confused for a few seconds before he realises. wonwoo tugs at his shirt, and mingyu goes. he lays his head in wonwoo’s lap, arm curling over his knees. despite wonwoo’s slight frame, it’s surprisingly comfortable. mingyu finds himself drifting almost straight away, lulled to sleep by the warmth of food in his stomach and the heat of wonwoo’s body beneath him.

he’s close to falling asleep when he feels the brush of something in his hair. it’s wonwoo, wonwoo brushing his fingers softly through the strands of hair at the top of his head. mingyu feels warmth flush all the way down to his toes, and falls asleep to the lull of wonwoo’s fingers stroking his hair.

 

 

\-----

 

 

predebut is a constant string of schedules, training, practices, and more training. it’s exhausting, and exhilarating and even though the collective fears and anxieties and wild hopes of thirteen boys all shoved into the one practice room and the one dorm with the single shared bathroom can be loud and overly suffocating, mingyu wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

mingyu is taller than everyone, and touchy with everyone. it isn’t uncommon to see him wrapped around a member from chest to thigh. even woozi, who comes off as cold and standoffish only because the newer members haven’t gotten used to his secret, grumpy softness, isn’t immune to mingyu’s habits.

if it isn’t a hand curved around a shoulder, or an arm slung around his waist, it’s sitting in each other’s laps or their fingers interlaced. their limbs always tangled together, inseparable, irresistible to each other’s pull.

mingyu likes the feeling of wonwoo’s hand in his. this is as much fact as the sun shining in the day and the moon rising at night.

mingyu’s hands are only slightly bigger, but wonwoo has thinner fingers, a musician’s slender hands.

they hold hands like the easiest thing in the world, tugging at each other’s hands or wrists, curling through the spaces of each other’s fingers absentmindedly. 

they’re an endless push-and-pull of playfulness and teasing. mingyu knows the lines of wonwoo’s smile better than he knows his own heartbeat, could anticipate wonwoo’s laughter from the way his nose crinkles with more familarity than his own. 

his eyes seek him out from across a room crowded with eleven other boys. the black, or red, or blue of his beanie tugged low on his head standing out like a lighthouse beacon calling him from shore. mingyu could find his way to wonwoo, blindfolded, both hands tied behind his back.

 

 

\-----

 

 

mingyu doesn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve, he wears it in bright neon lights pinned to the centre of his chest like a big red bullseye, a perfect target. he’s always been too open, too open-hearted and carefree with his feelings. he’s always been clumsy, too.

if he’d known you could break your own heart by handling it carelessly, he’d have wrapped it up in and locked it away in a bulletproof vault instead of stringing it across his ribs.

he looks at wonwoo a little too openly, a little too helplessly. he knows. now and then, it still manages to catch him off-guard. how much he wants to touch wonwoo, how much he wants to make him laugh, make him smile. how much he aches to have him near. how much he aches _not_ to have him near.

he wonders about what it would be like to kiss wonwoo during one summer afternoon when wonwoo’s fallen asleep after practice. his eyes drift from the strong slope of his nose to the shape of his mouth, the perfectly symmetrical curve of his cupid’s bow and the fullness of his bottom lip. the thing about thinking things you should never think about people you can never have is that once it’s there, in your brain, seeping into your dreams like stained watercolour and spilled ink, you can never take it back. you could open up mingyu’s head, take his chest apart piece by piece, and he’d bleed a rorschach test, butterfly wings rippled like bitter longing, with how much he _wants_.

mostly, mingyu wonders about what it would be like to just hold wonwoo’s hand. they don’t do that so much anymore. 

sometimes, mingyu thinks, he’d give anything just to hold wonwoo’s hand.

 

 

\-----

 

 

seventeen is asked about their ideal types during an interview – the blisteringly thorough interrogation of their likes, dislikes, and preferences all for the fans’ dissection.

wonwoo answers “the one that’s right for me” and mingyu finds that infinitely more romantic than what he wrote down. (but tall and kind-hearted and easy-going is a start.)

wonwoo elaborates “ _someone who matches well with him”_ , and mingyu can’t help but wonder if, in an alternate universe where he was a girl, this would strike him out of the running. he’s loud and extroverted and noisy where wonwoo likes his quiet and prefers intimate moments rather than constant excitement and energy. he doesn’t read much (at all), and he rarely games (if ever). he isn’t gentle, isn’t soft-spoken or intellectual in a way that would match well with wonwoo.

mingyu frowns as he watches wonwoo hand in his questionnaire, wondering at the uncomfortable feeling sinking into his stomach. 

when they’re asked again, this time for a cosmopolitan interview, what kind of girl would make them shout “ _mansae”_ , wonwoo has a different answer.

 _“i have this fantasy. a girl who reads by the window sill as the light shines against her.”_ the look on wonwoo’s face as he describes this perfect, hypothetical girl, is so faraway mingyu loses his train of thought watching him. _“if i see a girl like that i would fall in love.”_

mingyu doesn’t end up answering what his own ideal type is, too busy trying to force the look on wonwoo’s face out of his mind. wrapping up the interview with a grin and a stuttered, _“you’ll have fun and smile when you watch us!”_ he shoves all thoughts of wonwoo, and ideal types, firmly out of arm’s reach.

because, _well_ , alternate universes and imaginary scenarios aside, no version of mingyu would ever be the kind to sit by a window sill as the light shone against him.

no version of mingyu in any universe would be the type wonwoo would fall in love with.

 

 

\-----

 

 

it’s not as if wonwoo doesn’t touch him anymore _at all_. it’s not like it used to be, sure, but that doesn’t mean they’ve stopped altogether. that, mingyu thinks to himself with wild, feverish relief, would never happen.

they’ve grown up together. they’ve debuted together, endured every high and low, every triumph and disaster, weathered scandals and mediastorms and carats and netizens alike turning their backs on them in times of crisis together. they’ve been through everything. _together_.

whatever else, they’re still _mingyu and wonwoo_. still friends. and that’s enough –– will always be enough, _has to be_ enough.

wonwoo points at the tiered steps on stage in jakarta and mingyu goes, because he’d go anywhere wonwoo asked him to, lets wonwoo slot himself in between his legs, his shoulders propped between the frame of mingyu’s thighs.

mingyu makes wonwoo laugh at a fansign in myeongdong, the whole-bodied kind where his face scrunches and his head tips all the way back, and it’s like feeling the sun on his face on a cold winter’s day. 

they do fanservice in taipei, a tissue folded between their foreheads and mingyu loses because _god_ , how can he not when he’s expected to stare into wonwoo’s eyes and not want to die, not want to kiss him, not want to _run_? wonwoo takes his victory, triumphant smile puffed at his cheeks, and mingyu laughs, sweat-slick skin hiding the scarlet tinging his own.

they’re paired together for a magazine shoot in japan. the concept is down-to-earth, simple and domestic. they’re given the classic cooking-together-turned-food-fight scene, posed on the floor of a kitchen. the photographer tells them to let loose, have fun and play around, so mingyu dips a finger into the cream and streaks it down the side of wonwoo’s cheek. it takes him the rest of the day to stop thinking about the grin on wonwoo’s face, about wanting to lick the smear of frosting from the arch of his cheek. about how good it would be to taste it on wonwoo’s lips.

when seungcheol tells him he still has frosting on his nose hours after the photoshoot from where wonwoo had smeared it all over his face, mingyu lifts a hand to rub at his nose, missing the spot completely.

wonwoo picks out a card during a game with mingyu’s huge m scrawled on it and his signature. mingyu confesses, smiling wildly and shamelessly that for a long time already, he’s wanted to be piggybacked by wonwoo. the next five minutes is simultaneously the most blissful and most uncomfortable mingyu’s ever been in his life. he can’t stop grinning the whole time, arms wrapped around wonwoo’s shoulders and thighs curled around his waist. he’s careful to keep his weight partially propped against the wall behind him, conscious of how heavy he is for wonwoo to carry him this long.

when it’s over, there’s a slight ache in his thighs from having them spread wide until the end of the segment, but the lightness in his chest obscures it all, taking flight from his ribs with a soaring feeling.

 

 

\-----

 

  

the fans catch on faster than any of them would have expected, with the kind of intensity and fervour reserved for idols and celebrities that are surely more famous and more beloved than mingyu and wonwoo. apparently, any two remotely attractive boys with a close enough friendship and fondness for skinship is grounds for a dedicated cult following. 

and at first, it’s sweet. almost flattering. in the beginning, mingyu flicks wonwoo shy smiles and casual laughter when a fan yells their names in their abbreviated form. _minwon_. min-woo. mingyu-and-wonwoo.

it sounds nice, mingyu thinks. _minwon._

wonwoo smiles, placid and invariably apathetic, when he hears it. mingyu tightens his grip around his shoulders and they wave at the fan shouting their name. 

the novelty wears off slowly, like gold tarnishing over time into a dull rust. the tenth, eleventh, twelfth time a fan screams their names during an event, interrupting other members, or attempting to catch their attention when they see wonwoo leaning over to talk to soonyoung or mingyu whispering something into minghao’s ear. 

when they sit together at fansigns, fans seem almost starstruck to see them beside each other, torn between blushing, and demanding they perform fanservice and answer endless questions about each other.

and once the awkwardness sets in, it’s a slow descent into distance and tiresome performance.

mingyu doesn’t mind the fanservice. he’s always more than happy to pull a silly face or make a heart for a fan but he sees it the moment it starts to bother wonwoo in the pinch of his expression, the minute tightening of his jaw. he can read wonwoo’s every expression like a page in a well-worn book.

wonwoo takes to scrawling outright rejections on the sticky notes he’s handed with questions constantly asking him about mingyu. thinly veiled impatience behind a mask of unflappable cool.

mingyu is his dongsaeng, and fans demanding he call him _honey, boyfriend, darling_ , is crossing every line of demarcation between fantasy and reality there is.

when he gets a sticky note asking him who wonwoo is to him, he picks the most correct answer there is: _family_. wonwoo is his family. like an older brother, mingyu echoes to himself, the feeling in his stomach twisting like zero gravity. homesickness. 

mingyu sees them sometimes from the corner of his eye, or when he’s handed the fan’s album to sign.

if mingyu could, he’d write his own:

 

_q: what am i to you anymore?_

_a. just a friend_  
_b. just another dongsaeng_  
_c. someone you used to be close with  
_ _d. someone i wish you’d miss_

 

_q: how much more can they push me before you get tired of me, too?_

 

 _q: do you ever miss me?_  
_a. yes_  
_b. no  
__(c. not as much as i miss you)_

 

it’s unfair, but mingyu can’t blame the fans. maybe this is just part of growing up, growing apart. outgrowing each other. maybe the people they are noow as their adult selves aren’t the same boys who could spend every waking moment together, tangled around each other like an endless mobius strip. it’s fine. they’ll still be friends, _teammates_ , seventeen. 

if wonwoo touches him a little less in public, maintains his distance now and then, staying by soonyoung or jun’s side instead of mingyu’s, mingyu will live. it feels a little like death every time he glances at wonwoo from across a room and doesn’t go to him, but it’s fine. 

 _they’re just friends._ friends don’t have to be always touching, or hanging out, or together at all.

 

 

\-----

 

sometimes it isn’t just unfair, it’s a cruel fucking prank the universe is playing on him. because soonyoung says things like _you look good together_ , and mingyu feels his traitorous heart leap and spin and somersault in his chest like it has any right to.

wonwoo exchanges a look with him, points incredulously at him, and says _no, not at all_. 

and his heart plummets a little. smile twisting crooked and bittersweet on his face, faltering for just a moment.

 

 

\-----

 

 

mingyu’s used to having his day planned by the hour. even their off-seasons are organised around carefully calculated schedules, practices and holidays and family time divided amongst the weeks. the hardest part about being in a 13-member group isn’t the noise, or the chaos, or the sheer clutter of living in such confined spaces with a bunch of grown men. it’s coordinating shower times, and bathroom breaks, and the beauty routines of thirteen image-conscious idols.

the performance unit is at the company building practicing their new choreography for their upcoming comeback. jeonghan and joshua went out a few hours ago with seungkwan and hansol for lunch. the others are scattered around the dorm, at the pledis building, or working on songs for the comeback.

mingyu has lyrics to write for his own verses, but writer’s block and the restlessness of not being able to concentrate on anything else drives him from his languid afternoon relaxing at the dorm to the gym. it’s been a while since he’s been able to make time amidst their constant schedules, and an empty dorm means no waiting in line behind twelve other people, _and_ he can spend as long as he wants in the shower.

seventeen hasn’t had much of a chance yet to show off their bodies with a sexy concept yet, but being the tallest and broadest, mingyu has a certain pride to uphold. 

when he gets home later that evening, he heads straight for the shower to unwind in a rare moment of peace.

he loses track of time, soaking in the hot water and performing a solo rendition of his favorite big bang songs. there’s a knock on the door when he’s in the middle of g-dragon’s verse in fxxk it when there’s a knock on the door. mingyu cocks his head, lowering the water pressure so he can hear who’s talking. 

“mingyu? is that you?” ah, it’s wonwoo.

“yeah, hyung.” mingyu shuts off the water. “uh, what’s up?”

“do you see my contacts anywhere in the bathroom? i can’t find them.”

mingyu pokes his head around the edge of the shower door, but doesn’t see any sight of the small blue case wonwoo usually keeps his contacts in. “can’t see anything here, hyung. but you can come in and look for yourself if you want.”

there’s a pause, and then wonwoo is opening the door and stepping into the bathroom. he stiffens the moment he sees mingyu, eyes going comically wide behind the glasses perched on his nose. mingyu watches, bemused, as wonwoo stops, and swallows. it’s not as if wonwoo’s never seen him in a state of undress like this before; they’ve spent most of their adolescence living in the same dorm, sharing the one bathroom. it’s nothing new to either of them. yet here they are, mingyu dripping onto the rug where he’s standing and wonwoo staring at him as if he’s grown a second head.

“hyung?” mingyu bites at his lip, brow furrowing slightly at wonwoo’s lack of reaction. wonwoo coughs, physically tears his eyes away from mingyu and stalks over to the sink.

mingyu reaches for the towel slung over the top of the shower, tucking it around his waist before stepping out and closing the door behind him. wonwoo’s inspecting the cleansers and exfoliators littering the edges of their sink with a level of focus he typically reserves for biology encyclopaedias. mingyu runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving it sticking up in wayward tufts as he leans over to peer at his reflection in the steamed glass of the mirror. wonwoo stares at a tube of something pink minghao uses religiously to moisturise his skin every night.

“oh!” mingyu perks up, face lighting up as he spots the small blue case tucked behind some bottles of hansol or seungcheol or woozi’s hair gel. his chest grazes against wonwoo’s shoulder as he reaches for it.

“found it!” he beams, waving the contacts at wonwoo. wonwoo hasn’t said a word, rooted motionless to the spot. there’s a streak of darker grey on his shirt where mingyu’s bare skin had brushed against him. water drips from his arms, running rivulets down his biceps and the lines of his pectoral muscles, his stomach, as he draws back.

mingyu chuckles, teeth peeking out over the edge of his smile. “ah, sorry about your shirt, hyung.”

wonwoo exhales, slow and strained, muscles locked in a strange, tightwire tension. he mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _kim fucking mingyu_ , and leaves before mingyu can say anything.

he stands there, bewildered, blinking rapidly at the place where wonwoo had been literally a second ago.

“hyung —  _where are you going_? your contacts!”

 

 

––––-

 

 

no matter what changes, and however far apart they drift, there are still constants that stay the same, unchanging and immutable.

they still stay up till three in the morning hyped up on energy drinks, sneaking convenience store snacks into the practice room so they can come up with lyrics woozi-pd won’t tear to shreds.

it’s moments like this that mingyu remembers not everything’s different. wonwoo can still make him laugh harder than anything else in the world. wonwoo doesn’t mind when he lends mingyu his pens and doesn’t scold him for chewing on the ends or never getting them back. their scrawled handwriting on sheets of balled up paper is a chaotic mess of jokes, memes, and abandoned lyrics.

at one point wonwoo gives up, sprawling in his chair with a frustrated growl. mingyu chucks a scrunched up ball of paper at him, hitting him on the side of his head and nearly falling out of his own chair in his hurry to hide when wonwoo lunges at him.

wonwoo dives, grabbing at his wrist with one hand and the other swinging around his shoulders and neck. mingyu hooks a leg around his side, scrambling for leverage to get himself out of wonwoo’s arms. they both go down, tumbling in a pile of limbs and breathless laughter.

they don’t end up finishing the lyrics for un haeng il chi that night, but it’s the most fun either of them have had in a while. it’s the most fun they’ve had just _being in each other’s company_. mingyu would take woozi’s disapproval and razor-sharp critiques over half-finished lyrics any day if it meant having another night just like this.

 

 

\--–––

 

 

they get to pick their bunk mates when the members all swap rooms, and mingyu makes a beeline straight for wonwoo’s side. they play paper-scissors-rock for who gets top bunk and wonwoo wins, jumping on the spot with a cute, scrunched smile.

despite sleeping earlier than wonwoo on most nights, mingyu is _not_ a morning person.

now he wakes up to the sound of wonwoo’s raspy voice saying his name, tapping at the side of his bedframe. wonwoo’s morning voice, still thick with sleep, mumbling “ _mingyu. mingyu-yah_.”

one of the mornings they have a later schedule, mingyu groans and rolls over, tugging the covers high over his head so he can muffle the sounds of wonwoo calling him. he squeezes his eyes shut, burrowing deep into the blankets as the tide of sleep pulls him back into its fold.

the next thing he knows there’s a body flopping on top of him, all long, skinny limbs, and bony fingers reaching to poke at all of mingyu’s vulnerable places. mingyu cries out, kicking at the blankets and wriggling beneath wonwoo’s weight.

 _“ah, hyung!_ hyung! get off! _oh my god.”_

wonwoo giggles, merciless hands digging into the soft, ticklish skin at the sides of mingyu’s waist. wonwoo _knows_ all of his worst, most vulnerable places, and isn’t afraid to exploit this knowledge to bring mingyu to near tears, shouting and laughing amidst his gasps for surrender. 

“hyung, _please_ ,” mingyu cries, twisting and flailing an arm out as wonwoo snickers, his whole body caging mingyu in. he sits up, thighs on either side of mingyu’s stomach, fingers curled and threatening, hovering just above him.

“mingyu-yah, you sure you don’t want to go back to sleep?”

mingyu whines softly, shrinking beneath his covers until only his eyes are peaking out over the edge. he kicks at the covers petulantly with his foot.

“ _you’re the worst_ , hyung,” he mumbles, struggling to sit up so he can shove wonwoo off of him.

wonwoo lets the momentum topple him to the side, collapsing with a light chuckle.

“my stomach hurts from all that laughing,” mingyu complains, now fully awake. he pouts, nudging at wonwoo with his foot. wonwoo hums, shifting over so he can drape an arm and a leg around mingyu, half of his body blanketed across mingyu’s. 

“you can sleep in for five more minutes,” wonwoo says, voice muffled by mingyu’s shoulder. “i’ll wake you up.”

mingyu’s mouth curves into a small, satisfied smile, his arm wrapping loosely around wonwoo’s back, just below his waist. he falls asleep with the sound of wonwoo’s heartbeat pressed to the side of his chest, just beneath his own.

 

 

\-----

 

 

 _to: wonwoo_ ♡

 

is the love heart too much? probably. this whole thing is stupid anyway, doodling a tiny heart beside wonwoo’s name (because _of course_ he’d pick wonwoo’s name, out of all the members in a random draw, to write a letter to) isn’t going to make this any less stupid.

 

_hello, you don’t know who i am right? i hate writing letters_

 

still, the letter’s meant to be meaningful. something written with sincerity. mingyu imagines wonwoo finding the letter years in the future, folded and creased with age, tucked away on some forgotten bookshelf. he pictures an older wonwoo - three, five, ten years older - smiling to himself as he reads mingyu’s words, and suddenly it isn’t so hard to write.

wonwoo’s sentimental. he likes things like keepsakes, and mementos. above all, he treats handwritten word like sacrosanct.

 

_but after i wrote this one for you i was really happy. i really_

_love you_

 

ithe words stick out on the page, loud and glaring in mingyu’s clumsy writing. too honest. even if it’s true, and mingyu isn’t afraid to say it. 

 _i really love you, wonwoo-yah,_ is what he ends up writing. the playul, teasing endearment tacked on at the end, that would sound like a laugh if he were to say it out loud.

 

 _no matter what happens, keep working hard, and think about me a lot._  

_when you’re having a hard time, come to me and i’ll help you. call me and talk to me a lot on kakao, i’ll reply to it._

 

wonwoo is a terribly unreliable texter. his unpredictable habits range from single-emoji replies to strings of cute emoticons (usually the kitty ones), to paragraphs of rambling text when he’s surfaced from the middle of a book and needs someone to rant to about this underdeveloped character with so much hidden potential or the plot twist he totally saw coming from page 37.

mingyu replies to all of his texts. even the ones that are just keysmashes and paragraphs of half-awake nonsense. mostly, he likes the way wonwoo talks. the way he can make any subject the most interesting thing in the world.

most people tend to think their best friend is the funniest, and smartest, and most fascinating person in the world. in mingyu’s case, this isn’t a case of hyperbolic affection. wonwoo _genuinely does_ , in his personal and very accurate opinion, have the most brilliant and interesting mind of anyone he’s ever met. there’s something endearing and wonderfully rare about someone so intelligent but so childlike in their curiosity about the world and everything in it.

 

_and don’t get sick, please, you have to take care of your health._

 

 

_\-----_

 

 

everything changes with _that xx_. when they practice the cover, they plan for the spectacle, the performance and each beat blocked out off-stage, the _killing point_. they choreograph the story the way they would a dance, two boys in love with the same girl and fist fighting for their love till the end, complete with aggressive, macho posturing, shoving and pushing, deadly eye contact all the way through.

it’s like any other rehearsal, you can practice as much as you want but nothing can _truly_ prepare you for what happens on the night. there’s just simply nothing like it.

wonwoo comes alive on stage in a way that’s mesmerising to watch. every move and word sharper, precision-cut for maximum effect, his voice reverberating deep in his throat, husky and visceral with emotion. his flow is smooth as velvet, airtight, _seamless_. he commands the stage with the raw presence of a performer with a decade’s worth of experience.

they circle each other on the platform like predators eyeing each other for the slighest slip, the barest hint of weakness.

wonwoo winks at him, just a flicker of dark lashes, and mingyu feels it like static electricity surging down his spine, has to smother the smile threatening to spill across his face.

when the lights flash from blue to red, the beat ratcheting up and the music crescendoing as mingyu slams at wonwoo’s shoulders, he can feel the coil of tension in his stomach start to tighten. wonwoo shoves at the arm holding his microphone, and all of time and space and the air between them seems to compress into the space of a single beat. they crush their foreheads together, the force of it ricocheting right through mingyu’s body like a bolt of pure lightning.

wonwoo’s eyes darken, or maybe it’s just the lack of distance that turns them black, blacker than negative space. the lack of oxygen, the rush of adrenaline surging in his veins, hitting critical mass in his chest in a burst of crushing heat. wonwoo’s spitting lyrics into his microphone, fingers white beneath the glaring stagelights, pitch black eyes boring into his like the edge of an event horizon, the gravitational pull of the point of no return slowing time, drawing everything out in wavelengths of light and colour.

the flash of desire that starts in his ribs catches like wildfire spreading fast through the rest of his chest, filling his lungs and his throat. he feels his lips cock into a smirk, the intensity of the moment making him reckless, _unafraid_. an inch closer and their lips would be touching, wonwoo’s mouth burning against his. when the next beat drops, mingyu shoves him away, like they planned, just as they practiced, heated gaze disappearing into the act from the safe distance of the other side of the stage. the unsteadiness of his breath, the hitching rise and fall of his chest, goes unnoticed in the swell of screams and applause rising to a stadium-wide crescendo. 

he can still feel his skin burning for hours after the song ends, can still feel the tease of wonwoo’s mouth so close to his own.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“holy shit,” seungkwan laughs backstage in the waiting room, face lit with incredulity. “what the hell did you _do_ out there? tear each other’s clothes off? you could hear the fans screaming from a thousand miles away.”

wonwoo’s expression betrays nothing. for the hundredth time in his life, mingyu finds himself envying wonwoo’s self-control. unlike wonwoo, mingyu trips and stumbles his way through his emotions, too much and too loud, always feeling everything, all at once.

his mouth folds into a crooked smile, bitterness and bare heartache flashing across his face, a blaze of lightning searing through dark, before settling into a cursory attempt at nonchalance. it’s a poor pantomime of wonwoo’s effortless apathy.

the makeup-noona touching up his makeup tuts at him, turning his chin back towards her so she can finish cleaning up the bitten smudges of his swollen bottom lip.

“we killed it; the fans loved it. everything went exactly as expected.” mingyu shrugs languidly. in the reflection of the mirror before him, mingyu intercepts wonwoo’s line of sight just as he glances his way. wonwoo’s jaw tenses, and mingyu lips flatline in a smile as he looks him dead in the eye. “ — what else is there to say?”

 

 

\----- 

 

 

wonwoo avoids being beside him on-screen with the expertise of a seasoned idol who’s had cameras following his every move for years now.

mingyu forcibly reminds himself not to feel too bitter when all of the affection and touchiness and skinship he used to save for mingyu is now reserved solely for soonyoung or jun, or hansol or seungcheol. he swallows jealousy until all he can taste is bitterness when he looks off to another camera and plasters a bright grin to his face.

mingyu isn’t _stupid_ either, he maintains the same amount of time he usually would fawning over wonwoo’s aegyo and fanservice, playing around with him at fanmeetings, trying to gain his attention in front of a camera. he laughs through wonwoo’s playfulness, brushing off wonwoo’s attempts to sabotage a soft moment or a couple heart, pouting cutely when wonwoo rejects his skinship.

he does, however, have an undying masochistic streak. even the act of playing nice in front of cameras, for fans, for the image he and wonwoo have, remains partially self-interested. mingyu can’t —  _help himself_.

he misses wonwoo in such obvious ways that the members skirt around the topic with painful bluntness, shooting them sidelong looks when they think neither of them are paying attention. mingyu refuses to talk about it with any of the members, responding to any casual comments about why he and wonwoo are always acting strange on camera or spending less and less time around each other with pointed deflections.

there’s nothing _to_ say. wonwoo won’t look him in the eye anymore, and he’s forgotten what it’s like to look at him and not feel his chest _ache_.

 

 

\-----

 

 

backstage, ushered past stylists and coordi-noonas and various staff members, the dark settles thick on mingyu’s skin like a charge of fine static, obscuring the flush of his cheeks and the feverish look that’s yet to fade from his eyes.

the air around him is uncooperative, _resistant_ to the simple act of catching his breath. all he can think about is wonwoo, and all his body can focus on is wonwoo, _wonwoo_ , wonwoo.

mingyu’s used to chasing the things he loves. he’s used to being the one forever seeking out wonwoo, always running after him, to him, behind him.

he doesn’t expect for wonwoo to turn, mid-step before they reach the member’s designated waiting room between sets to grab his hand, make a sharp left, and pull him down a deserted corridor.

even in his most profane and unspeakable fantasies, he couldn’t have dreamed up wonwoo grasping him by his collar, and shoving him against a wall in the midst of a concert with twenty minutes to go before their next song with a wildness to his features that speaks of recklessness and bad decisions. wonwoo does nothing but breathe for a moment, the slight heave to his chest and the sound of his breath harsh in the deafening stillness stunning mingyu into a state beyond speechlessness. 

wonwoo’s panting. he’s _affected_ by this. the impossibility of it sends an unhibited surge of thrill and disbelief through him.

“ _kim mingyu_.” wonwoo shatters the vacuum of noise all at once with the gravelled raggedness of mingyu’s name on his mouth, in his throat, like _he’s_ the one doing this to wonwoo.

mingyu doesn’t dare breathe. the charcoal smudged along the angular lines of wonwoo’s eyes throws his every feature into sharp relief, accentuating the leonine slant of his jaw, eyes dark enough to eat him alive, or swallow him whole. the grip around his collar tightens, white-knuckled fingers clenching and then unclenching. mingyu stares back, helpless, so far gone beyond the point of no return that he can only watch wonwoo with a terrifying kind of certainty.

“ _min    gyu_.“ the sound of his name breaking on wonwoo’s tongue tugs at somewhere in his gut, sharp with _hunger_.

wonwoo’s hand shifts to curl against the back of mingyu’s head, unfurling in his hair, and mingyu teeters at the edge of the nothingness, peers right into the horizon of the abyss, and _leaps_.

he sinks into the kiss like the first real breath he’s drawn after months, _years_ , of anchoring it to the depths of him with the weight of every damning piece of the truth he’s never spoken. his mouth meets wonwoo’s, and like heat and dry kindling, the brush of their lips is electric.

wonwoo kisses him as if his mouth has never known softness, bruising, _rough_. he lifts himself to his toes, arching higher so he can press deeper into the kiss, tongue grazing against mingyu’s lips. mingyu lets slip a low, strained noise in the back of his throat, hands sliding up to grip wonwoo’s face as his mouth parts for him. wonwoo’s tongue, darting across his teeth, then dipping lower to brush barely, _tauntingly_ , against his own, is the sweetest way to burn. after the force and crushing intensity of his advance, to retreat now to tortuous teasing and the insinuation of his teeth sinking into mingyu’s lip is sheer agony.

mingyu groans, light and insistent, tugging at wonwoo’s hair as he feels the curve of his lips against his own. wonwoo nips at his bottom lip, breath fanning across his skin as he slows, mouth brushing against the corner of mingyu’s lips, trailing down to his jaw, his neck. mingyu chokes on his own breath, his hands coming up to wrap around wonwoo’s back if only for something to steady himself against the onslaught of wonwoo’s relentlessness.

wonwoo touches him like he means to leave a mark, with his lips and fingers alone. mingyu kisses back like he knows this is the beginning and the end of everything. their mouths crushing together, and mingyu slanting his head downwards so he can lick into wonwoo’s mouth, curling into his lips to suck at his tongue.

he watches wonwoo as he does this, angled so he can seal wonwoo’s mouth with his. wonwoo tugs away abruptly, dragging his hand up from mingyu’s shoulder to his jaw and pressing him back against the wall, pinned just by the force of his gaze, staring up at mingyu through his lashes. wonwoo presses his thumb against mingyu’s jaw, and mingyu’s eyes flutter shut. he pushes his tongue past mingyu’s mouth, fast and harsh, with an intensity that feels like burning and drowning in the same breath.

the sound of voices, footsteps and commotion near the end of the hallway startles them, catches them off-guard, tearing apart from each other in heaving, panting gasps of air. mingyu stares at wonwoo, eyes wide with an inevitable dread seeping into his veins, ice freezing over in his blood, dousing the fire and fever with cold shock.

wonwoo’s the first to react. he’s the first to straighten, to rein in his composure, shoving a hand through his dishevelled hair and tugging at the creases in his clothes. he’s brushing off the shoulders of his jacket when mingyu realises what this is, what his reaction means.

“wonwoo,” he breathes, the syllables so deathly soft on his lips that he thinks for a moment wonwoo hasn’t heard him at all.

and then wonwoo pauses, lifts his gaze to fix mingyu with his dark eyes burning like black holes, the gravitational pull of him so intense that nothing, least of all mingyu, can escape.

 _please, don’t_ mingyu wants to say. wishes he had the bravery to say.

wonwoo exhales, eyes flicking away to the shadowed corridor and the cold, unfeeling world of reality that awaits them at the end of it. he turns, and mingyu doesn’t know what to do or what to say to make any of this remotely endurable.

 

 

––––-

 

 

when wonwoo falls sick and is ruled unfit to perform at the dream concert and participate in any future broadcasts, programs, and schedules for the forseeable future, jeonghan cries for two hours straight thinking about how hard it is for wonwoo but it’s mingyu who loses sleep every night that wonwoo’s sickness wears on.

it’s mingyu who sends him kakao messages every day during broadcasts and filming to keep wonwoo updated on what they’re doing. it’s mingyu that maintains a running commentary for wonwoo of the most mundane parts of the group’s day to miscellaneous anecdotes of things that happened during the day that he feels compelled to tell wonwoo about. it’s mingyu that hates it more than anyone else that wonwoo isn’t here with them. 

mingyu, who’s adopted the eddy plushie as an actual proxy for wonwoo, has started bringing it with them everywhere from airports, to music shows, to fanmeetings. a plushie doesn’t complain when you cuddle with it, or pose for an endless amount of cute photos with it; in some ways the little fox toy is a better wonwoo than wonwoo’s ever been. 

thinking about wonwoo and if he’s eating, if he’s feeling better or worse today, if he’s telling the truth when he reassures them all he’s taking care of himself and getting stronger, eats away at mingyu in a way that he hasn’t experienced since the pre-debut days of hardships and uncertainty. he hates knowing that wonwoo is alone in seoul, sick and struggling with the weight of everyone worrying about him. every time his anxiety about wonwoo flares up, he spams wonwoo with emojis, memes, and cute cat videos.

the members are constantly writing ’ _it isn’t the same without you_ ‘ and ‘ _everyone wishes you were here_ ‘ in the group chat, cheering wonwoo up despite the distance as best they can.

and then there’s what mingyu says in the messages he sends wonwoo himself:

 

 _hyung it’s weird without you here_ ㅋㅋ  _less annoying though. very peaceful._

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ _hyung look at these photos of me and eddy. the fans said he’s even cuter than you are._

 _HYUNG YOU BETTER BE EATING :((((((((_ _i swear to god if we get home and you haven’t been eating lots!!!! you need all the nutrients you can get!!!!! >:C_

_ah, the fans were so sweet about your birthday at the fanmeeting today, hyung. everyone is wishing you a fast recovery. we want you to know how much we all love u and want you to be healthy again. FIGHTING!!!!!!!_

 

what he means: 

 

_i miss you. i miss you i miss you i miss you so damn much._

_i worry about you all the time. why are you always making me worry? do you really like watching me suffer that much? you’re so selfish, hyung._

_i hate knowing how hard this is for you and not being able to do more to help. i hate not being able to take care of you._

_so please take care of yourself well. please eat a lot. don’t say you’re sorry for being sick, just please hurry up and get better._

_please just... please be okay._

 

 

\-----

 

 

“hyung,” mingyu says, voice distracted and his attention elsewhere, namely on where their fingers are interlaced and wonwoo is running the pad of his thumb idly over the dip between his thumb and forefinger. they’re sprawled on the floor of the practice room where they’d collapsed after mingyu’s incessant wriggling around while sitting on wonwoo’s lap had sent them tumbling to the ground in a fit of giggles.

and even though the members are scattered around them, the world is them, and the one ipod shared between them with a bud in each ear, their intertwined hands. 

“mm?” wonwoo murmurs, in a tone that means he’s distracted, too. wonwoo has pretty hands, mingyu muses to himself. it’s something he’s always noticed, fleetingly, in the back of his head.

“do you think we’d still be friends if we’d never become idols?” 

“what, like if you’d never been streetcast? or you didn’t end up joining pledis?” wonwoo rolls his head back slightly to look at mingyu. “i guess i never would have met you.”

mingyu frowns slightly, tightening his fingers around wonwoo. the thought of a world where he never got to meet wonwoo, let alone become friends with him, digging sharply in between his ribs.

“but if we’d met like, at school or something. or through mutual friends. if we didn’t become members of seventeen.” _if it wasn’t a job requirement to like each other, regardless of sincerity._

wonwoo shifts his foot, sliding it over mingyu’s leg. “i guess so. although, you can be kind of _loud_ , and _annoying_ –“

“hyung!” mingyu protests, slapping wonwoo in the shoulder with his free hand, legs tangling with wonwoo’s in a kicking, shoving motion.

wonwoo chuckles, curling in against mingyu’s attacks, the fingers laced with mingyu’s lifting as he balls up beside mingyu, almost _on top of_ mingyu. mingyu pouts, but lets wonwoo do as he wants, the force of his glare dulled somewhat by the fact that he’s yet to let go of wonwoo’s hand.

wonwoo reaches a hand towards him, and mingyu flinches subtly, thinking he’s going in for a flick to the forehead, or jab to the cheek. instead, wonwoo brushes a strand of hair away from his face with his finger. and _then_ pokes him in the forehead, smirking as mingyu makes an indignant noise.

“who knows if we ever would have met if i was a trainee, and you never came to pledis?” wonwoo says, voice soft, low and contemplative. he swings their hands slightly between them, fingers curling tighter between the spaces of mingyu’s fingers. “but i would’ve liked you no matter what, i do know that.”

mingyu’s smile stretches to fill his whole face. 

“oh my god, what the hell kind of bullshit are you two on?” jihoon yells, finally snapping.

“seriously, get a room!” seokmin chimes in. “we didn’t work our asses off to become trainees to watch you two being gross 24/7.”

mingyu and wonwoo trade a look in complete, short-lived silence before dissolving into muffled laughter. 

 

 

\-----

 

 

here’s the thing, mingyu might not necessarily be the funniest or most enthusiastic member of seventeen but he does have one of the group’s most genuinely infectious senses of excitement and light-heartedness, a quality he channels into everything he does with a nearly inexhaustible supply of stamina.

there’s a contagiousness to his noisy, cheerful sunniness — but his bad days? they’re downright unbearable. and his inability to hide anything from his face always makes it painfully obvious to the people around him even when he’d rather be left alone to quietly endure. 

there’s nothing in particular that sets him off. just a combination of small inconveniences that would’ve been easy to brush off if they hadn’t happened on the same day within the span of a few hours. he didn’t sleep well the night before, and he couldn’t find his favourite jacket in their rush to leave. the members barely had time to grab a snack for breakfast before the staff were ushering them into their waiting vans. the photoshoot is dragging on longer than they usually do thanks to an especially demanding photographer. hungry, exhausted, and vaguely frustrated with everything and nothing at all once, mingyu just —  _isn’t feeling it_ , and it shows on his face and in his body language despite years of honing his modelling skills as a consummate professional.

minghao comes over at one point after a stylist has finished touching up his makeup to critique his shots, giving pointers and suggestions for how can he can best present the concept. it’s minghao’s own way of checking up on him, making sure he’s alright without having to say so out loud.

for the final series of shots, mingyu’s paired with wonwoo. the concept is straightforward and editorial, requiring minimal amounts of story and expression. after this, they can break for lunch and mingyu can distract himself with food and plan out his much-needed nap before their schedule in the evening.

wonwoo saunters over to the edge of the space that’s been set up for them, looking sharp and devastatingly handsome as always. the group is always teasing mingyu about being a visual genius but it’s wonwoo who has the face made for modelling. he’s the type of intimidatingly beautiful that design houses and companies and commercial features would fall over themselves to immortalise.

mingyu can tell he’s in a good mood from the playful crinkle of his eyes when he spots mingyu, the lightness to his step as he strides over. lucky him, he thinks, willing his face to form a smile in greeting.

“mingyu-yah, you’re going to have to try harder than that if we want our photos to turn out well.” wonwoo’s in a _playful_ mood, too, it seems. mingyu hums noncommittally, shoving his hands into the pockets of his patterned slacks.

“let’s just get this over with quickly, hyung. the sooner we’re done the sooner we get to eat.”

wonwoo doesn’t disagree, moving to join mingyu on the set. mingyu entwines himself easily with wonwoo when the photographer asks, draping himself across wonwoo’s side, posing with his head leaning against wonwoo’s shoulder and back. every time they touch, it’s like static crackling against his skin, restless and unnerving, and for once mingyu hates it. the last thing he needs today is a reminder of the power wonwoo holds over him, the irrevocable pull he has over every part of him against all better judgement. 

it’s one more thing he doesn’t need to add to the growing list of reasons why today is turning out to be a terrible day. 

after the photographer calls out that they’ve got the final shot, mingyu bows deeply to her and all the accompanying staff and leaves without a word to wonwoo.

lunch is a veritable feast, which partly makes up for suffering the first half of the day on an empty stomach, and he sneaks in his long and undisturbed nap before their fansign in the evening. seeing all the faces of the fans, some of whom mingyu even recognises, who have supported them over the years and choose to love and appreciate them always makes him warmm and impossibly soft. it’s not a hardship to suck it up, put on a smile, and interact with the carats who spend so much of their time, energy, and money cheering on seventeen through the years.

as usual, mingyu’s seated next to wonwoo in the lineup. he nods at wonwoo, a small smile quirking at his lips as he takes his seat beside him. wonwoo levels him him with a look of consideration, and then turns and nudges at jun to get his attention. mingyu bites back his sigh, eyes dropping to his hands and steeling himself to get through the next few hours.

mingyu poses cutely, flirts, wears the adorable headbands and takes selcas with the props handed to him. he does everything that’s asked of him, willingly and eagerly. he gets a few post-it notes that ask about wonwoo, and mingyu answers them honestly.

 

 _q: the member that you often wish to take care of and feed?  
_ _a: the8, wonwoo._

 

 _q: if you have to do a unit with one of the members, who would you want to do it with?  
__q: wonwoo hyung_ ♡

 

mingyu passes the signed photo back and thanks the carat who blushes and moves on to greet hansol beside him. from the corner of his eye, he can see wonwoo scribbling on a bright yellow-post it, his characters large and messy compared to the small, neat characters of the fan’s handwriting.

 

 _q: wonwoo ~ what do you like abouy mingyu??? why??? why???  
__a: mingyu is stupid. i hate him the most_ ㅋㅋㅋ

 

mingyu swallows, jaw clenching as wonwoo looks up, locking eyes with him. whatever he sees in mingyu’s eyes sends a tiny flicker of astonishment across his face before it’s replaced by a carefully netural expression.

the fan moves in front of mingyu, and he greets her brightly, taking her hand and laughing as she turns the page quickly to hide wonwoo’s post-it.

after that, mingyu doesn’t speak to wonwoo again until a fan yells out from the crowd for them to do a couple heart. mingyu, at this point, would rather chew through his own arm than fake a happy, contrived ‘couple moment’ for fanservice. he does it anyway, because this is what idols do, _it’s what the fans came here for_ , arching his left arm into one half of a heart.

wonwoo glances up, slapping at his hand to the fans’ amusement. mingyu grits his teeth, kicking at wonwoo underneath the table. 

“ _wonwoo-hyung_ ,” he says deceptively lightly. “couple heart.”

wonwoo snorts, curving his arm to echo mingyu’s for the grand total of one second. mingyu makes another heart by himself, shoots finger hearts at the fans, smiles cutely and poses. he doesn’t exchange another word with wonwoo.

he’s the first to stand when the fansign is officially over, waving at the fans and blowing them kisses as he heads straight for the exit.

they’re piling out of the cars at the end of the day, eager to unwind after a long day of schedules and get first pick for the showers, when wonwoo cuts mingyu off, blocking his path to the entrance of the dorm building.

“wonwoo-hyung.” when wonwoo shows no signs of moving, mingyu sighs, readjusting his grip on his bag.

“hyung, can we just —  _not_? not today. whatever this is, it can wait.” he’s exhausted, physically, and —  _emotionally_. existentially. he’s tired of having his world revolve around wonwoo’s moods, and whether or not he feels like acknowledging mingyu’s existence on a particular day.

“you know — ” wonwoo pauses, glancing away to the side before straightening, lifting himself to his full height as if he’s bracing himself. “you know that i don’t really mean those things, don’t you?”

 _what things_ , mingyu wants to spit sarcastically. _the things where you say you hate me? and that i’m stupid?_ or that thing where somewhere along the way you stopped talking to me, stopped touching me, stopped caring about me and now the only times we ever speak are on-screen, in front of the fans.

“i _don’t_ know, hyung. how could i possibly know? we barely even talk anymore. and when we do, it’s only ever as fanservice for someone else.”

wonwoo presses his lips together, eyes hardening imperceptibly. “the interactions with fans are just that. i don’t write those things because i mean them.”

“great. i’m so grateful to know you don’t hate me and don’t see me as your enemy.” mingyu says, the false cheer of his voice dripping venom. “are we done? can we please be done now?”

“mingyu, it’s a _joke_. that’s all. it’s not even _real_.”

for a brief moment, mingyu’s vision flashes bright scarlet. _it’s a joke?_ is that what the slow and graceless deterioriation of their relationship is to wonwoo? does he really care that little about what they’ve become? 

“what’s a joke is the fact that you think i care what you write on those stupid notes. this isn’t about that.” the last strand of his patience snaps, taking the foundations of months of enduring in silence and quiet surrender crashing down with it. “you treat me like — like i’m fucking nothing in front of the cameras. it’s like you can’t stand to be near me. and i. i _get_ that it’s exhausting, constantly being paired up with me by the fans and members and producers but i.” 

mingyu drags a hand though his hair, and then back over his face, his eyes suddenly burning. (with grief, _with heartache_ , with all the guilt he’s carried like an anchor weighed down in his heart wondering if this is _because of him_. if he did this to them.) 

“it hurts, okay? _it hurts._ ” how embarrassing, he thinks, on the brink of losing the last of his brain-to-mouth filter, to get so emotional and worked up about something that doesn’t even affect wonwoo. mingyu swipes the back of his hand across his eyes, angry, almost, at himself for being this helplessly sensitive. “it fucking hurts because of how close we used to be. you were — you _are_ , supposed to be one of my best friends and it’s like you don’t even care.”

“i don’t know if it’s. because of me. because of something i did. but i’m… i’m sorry. i am. and i won’t do it anymore. so just… don’t ignore me.”

the weight of keeping this locked up inside him for so long hits him hard and fast, wrenching him out of wonwoo’s orbit, leaving him breathless, spun out of space. he’s fucking — _tired_.he’s fought himself so long and so hard, clinging to wonwoo and the hope that his lingering love and affection is enough. maybe, _maybe_ mingyu has to live with the truth that it’s not.

“ _god_ ,” mingyu chokes out. “i sound stupid. this is stupid. it’s — forget it.” he drags a hand down across his face, feeling so, so tired. of everything. 

“i’ve never been able to make you do or say anything you don’t want to anyway.”

he shoves past wonwoo, his shoulders collapsing inwards the moment he’s out of sight, a soundless heartbreak wracking through him.

 

 

––––-

 

 

mingyu’s pretty sure wonwoo gets as modest an amount of money as he does from his own mom and dad. that doesn’t stop him from offering to buy mingyu snacks any time he mentions being hungry, and insisting on taking him to the convenience store. this is one of biggest – though not _only_ – factors for mingyu when he decides wonwoo is his favourite person to spend time with out of the entire group. 

a lot of the members have mentioned how quiet and reserved wonwoo is. the general consensus is that his introverted, mysterious type is going to make for an effortlessly cool image once they officially debut.

mingyu’s never found wonwoo _quiet_. if anything, wonwoo talks _too much_. he’ll cover half a dozen different topics in the same breath, switching from one to the other without so much as a warning. he rambles endlessly about books and games and whatever (occasionally boring) new fact he’s learned. wonwoo is extraordinarily witty, and funny, and knows all sorts of interesting things because of how much he reads. he’s a fast learner and even better at explaining things to people. he’s easygoing and relaxed and rarely lets anything bother him. for someone of his age, he has a worldview and sense of self that’s strikingly mature and perceptive. in spite of his appearance, he’s playful and mischievous and has a deep fondness for terrible jokes and pranks.

mingyu likes wonwoo for all the things he has that mingyu lacks. and even though their personalities lie on opposite ends of the spectrum, everything wonwoo does is innately endearing to mingyu.

becoming seventeen’s mingyu used to mean pursuing his dreams of fame and stardom, of showing off his talents to the world. now, it means family and friendship, too. means having the rare and wonderful privilege of meeting someone like wonwoo. 

 

 

––––-

 

 

mingyu handles heartbreak the way he does all precious and breakable things he’s ever touched: clumsily, with unsteady hands and a tendency for collateral damage.

to his credit, he’s endured years of being in love with wonwoo without realising it and has yet to do anything drastic, or impulsive. now that he knows _for sure_ , and it’s too late to salvage anything or confess in any way that would matter, he’s free to let his propensity for destruction run its course.

he goes out drinking with the older hyungs one night, tossing back sake fireballs with seungcheol and jeonghan until he can’t see straight and seokmin’s gone under the table. when seungcheol and jun have to drag him home, an arm beneath each of his shoulders, wonwoo’s waiting for them in front of the elevator of their floor.

“ _seungcheol._ ” wonwoo snaps, the absence of the honorific bitingly sharp on his tongue.

“i know, _i know_ ,” seungcheol hisses, readjusting his grip on mingyu as he begins tipping precariously to one side. “i should’ve been watching him more closely. i didn’t think he’d drink so much so fast.”

seungcheol shoots mingyu a guilty frown, brow furrowed as mingyu’s head tilts back, loose from lack of consciousness and liquor.

“and _you_.” an accusatory finger points at jun, wonwoo’s attention switching gears abruptly.

“what the hell were you doing? seokmin ends up passed out on the floor, _fine_ , but mingyu?!”

“what is wrong with you all? _he’s over six fucking feet_ , for god’s sake. how do you even drink enough to end up like this?”

jun exhales, hunching his shoulders apologetically.

“well, there’s no point arguing over who let who drink what. we need to get him back to his own room before the manager-hyungs find out and chew our asses out.”

“it’d serve you _right_ if they did,” wonwoo mutters. and then he sighs, drawing himself up to his full height as he stalks over to them before crouching down to peer at mingyu. a flicker of ambivalent softness, regret, darts across his face, and then it’s gone, his back turningi against them.

“c’mon,” he snipes impatiently. “we don’t have all night. i’ll get him to his room.”

seungcheol and jun trade a wordless look, but help maneouvre mingyu until he’s draped over wonwoo’s back, his long limbs and boneless state engulfing wonwoo beneath him. wonwoo straightens slowly, jostling mingyu so he can get a better grip around his thighs.

“if either of you say a word about this to _anyone_ , i’ll tell the managers exactly what you were doing tonight and how late you got home.”

seungcheol swallows, jerks his head in a sharp nod. jun just smirks, raising a hand to give him a sarcastic, two-fingered salute as wonwoo turns and starts trudging off in the direction of mingyu’s room.

wonwoo manages the relatively short distance down the corridor to 927, mingyu’s designated room. he fumbles with the keycard seungcheol had thankfully remembered to fish out of mingyu’s jacket pocket before sending them on their way, heaving a sigh of relief when it slides home and beeps to grant them entry.

mingyu’s room is spotless, despite them having been in tokyo for over a week now. wonwoo finds his various designer coats and shirts hanging neatly in the wardrobe when he goes to put mingyu’s leather jacket away. even his luggage is closed, everything he’d brought still neatly folded away in its place. wonwoo glances at mingyu, who he’s left sprawled on his side on the bed, and decides for his own sanity to leave him in last night’s clothes.

he takes off his shoes and pulls back the covers so he can tuck mingyu into them. asleep like this, mingyu’s usually boyish face looks years younger. like if wonwoo stepped back a little and let himself imagine it, he could still be the same boy from their days as a trainee, bright and animated and unfailingly warm-hearted. wonwoo misses that boy, and though he understand he’s still there underneath the strong jawline and fine dusting of stubble on his chin, still _mingyu_ after all, he’s lost the right to have him close.

wonwoo reaches for mingyu, unconsciously, compelled by sheer instinct. his fingertips brush against mingyu’s cheek, drifting up to his temple and through the soft hair framing his face.

in the moonlight, the burnished gold of his skin glows with a soft, burning brightness.

 

 

–––––

 

 

mingyu awakes to absolute hell. it feels like he’s got saitama super arena’s sound system blaring at full volume for a stadium capacity of 50,000 people inside his head. there’s a glass of water on his bedside table and his shoes and jacket are both gone. for a very brief, panicked moment, mingyu considers the possibility he's been lured home by a sasaeng, or a tabloid reporter. and then he recognises the familiar decor around him and realises with a sigh of relief that drains the last shred of energy out of him that he's in his own hotel room in tokyo. safe.  _alive._ with a hangover from the ninth circle of hell. 

he gulps down the water and stumbles his way to the bathroom to take a shower and regain some semblance of his humanity. after an hour, he manages to achieve something that roughly looks like a twenty-one year old sometimes idol but mostly human disaster.

at breakfast, he buries his head in his hands as minghao mocks him about looking like absolute shit and his supposed alcohol tolerance. when seungcheol shows up, mingyu drags himself so he's upright and throws him a small, bashful smile.

“thanks for, uh, last night, hyung.” mingyu ducks his head in a bow, shame making him seem younger than he is. “i'm sorry for drinking so much and being such an inconvenience.”

seungcheol just laughs, clapping mingyu fondly on the shoulder and giving him a soft shake. “it's alright. don't worry about it too much. happens to the best of us. we're just lucky no one was taking photos or reporting on us to the press.”

“how _did_ you manage to haul his tall ass a whole nine floors to his room?” minghao enquires curiously.

“jun helped. and — uh, wonwoo,” seungcheol replies, stopping short at the mention of wonwoo's name as if he's said too much. mingyu frowns, brow wrinkling as he shoots seungcheol a sharp look.

“wonwoo as in _jeon wonwoo_. wonwoo-hyung,” he echoes slowly, the syllables drawn out thick and awkward on his tongue.

“you know what, i'm _starving_.” seungcheol says hurriedly, eyes flickering away and into the distance. “i saw pancakes at the buffet on the way here, anyone want some?” and with that, he's gone. mingyu follows his retreating back, frown deepening and the pounding in his head rising to an incessant, surround-sound clamour. 

 _wonwoo_ carried him to his room? wonwoo carried him to his room, took of his jacket and shoes and tucked him into bed, and made sure he had a glass of water to wake up to in the morning? that... doesn't make sense. not when wonwoo's spent the last few months avoiding him like his life depends on it.

 

 

–––––

 

 

mingyu tracks him down the next day after filming for vlive updates and promos is over, cornering him when the group is quickly dispersing to enjoy their free time for the rest of the afternoon. wonwoo sees him stepping into his path, and his eyes widen fleetingly before his face smooths into a cool nothingness as he makes as if to leave. mingyu's hand shoots out to catch his wrist, grip a little tighter than necessary, face set and undauntingly stubborn.

“wonwoo-hyung.” there's an invisible tightening of wonwoo's expression, the slightest twitch of his throat that's almost a swallow. “i need to talk to you. can we... can we — please.”

wonwoo draws his hand back quickly, tugging out of mingyu's grip. “okay,” he says, quietly, dark eyes fixing on mingyu, pupils eclipsed by a hundred things mingyu wouldn't know how to begin to decipher. “ _okay._ ”

now that mingyu has him, _here_ , and listening, the words are fighting him in his attempt to string them together in a way that makes sense. how does he say  _what the hell are you doing_ and  _why are you doing this to me_ and  _do you know how much i like you_ and  _why did you have to fucking kiss me back_ without sending wonwoo running? how does he tell this infuriating, maddening boy that he's adored him since they were fourteen and fifteen and even though they're grown and changed and they're not those same boys anymore, _mingyu is still the same clueless, hopeless kid who saw him and just_ knew.

he starts with the simplest question first: “why did you help carry me home the other night?”

wonwoo's eyes widen slightly, disbelieving. “ _that's_ what you wanted to ask me? i happened to be around when seungcheol and jun showed up at the hotel with you, drunk as hell and on the verge of unconsciousness. i couldn't watch and do nothing.”

“but you took me to my room, you took my shoes off. and my jacket. you —  _you tucked me in._ ” mingyu stutters, faltering with his words and hating it. hating how easily wonwoo renders him helpless and vulnerable in the face of his vast, boundless indifference. _you tucked me into bed, you know which side of the bed i like sleeping on, you know i hate sleeping with dirty clothes on clean sheets._  now that he's saying it out loud, it sounds ridiculous, as if wonwoo wouldn't have done the same for any of the other members.

“yes,” wonwoo agrees slowly, almost gently. “because i didn't want you to get your sheets dirty.” mingyu hates him, he hates the carefulness tempering his voice like wonwoo  _feels fucking sorry for him_.

“but you — ” mingyu stops, humiliation and helplessness flooding his chest, choking up his throat, his face flushing bright and warm. any second now, too, the suspicious heat searing at the backs of his eyes is going to spill over, and this whole thing is going to ruin any chance of him ever being able to look wonwoo in the eyes again.

“ _fuck_.” mingyu mumbles, shrinking back and seeming smaller than their height difference should allow. “why do i... _why do i keep_  — doing this? i keep... telling myself it's nothing. it _is_ nothing. but my brain never wants to fucking listen.” he tips his head skywards, pressing a hand over his mouth like he can physically stop himself from breaking down right in front of wonwoo like the catastrophic, pathetic mess he really is. 

“you... you _kissed me back_. after the song, backstage. i didn't... i didn't imagine that.” at this point, mingyu doesn't know if he's trying to convince himself or wonwoo but the words sound sad and small coming out of his mouth. as if the kiss could have possibly meant to wonwoo what it means to mingyu when he's spent all this time pretending it never even happened.

“or maybe i did,” mingyu breathes, voice trembling just above a whisper. “maybe i've just been fooling myself this entire time. torturing myself. because i. _i like you._ i like you, hyung, and it. makes everything so much harder. it feels like i'm going to go crazy, with how much i like you. and all this time i've been — blaming you for pushing me away, when —  _really,_  it's my fault. it's my fault and i think a part of me has known that all along.”

it's a confession, and an apology, and an absolution all in one. and all things considered, if this is the last time he and wonwoo ever truly speak to each other again, if this is the thing that ruins them once and for all, then at the very least he's left nothing else inside of him to hide. mingyu feels like dying, feels like sinking into the ground and running away and curling up into a ball anywhere that wonwoo won't find him, but it's freeing, to finally speak his truth aloud.

he feels like he's ripped his chest right open to give wonwoo his heart in a bloodied fist, and any second wonwoo is going to turn and leave him in the dust, again.  _again_ , again, and again.

wonwoo has his jaw clenched, and mingyu doesn't know what that means anymore. doesn't know if that reads as anger, or frustration, or disgust. he used to be able to catalogue wonwoo's every expression like an entry in an encyclopaedia. it feels foreign now, and all too familiar, to see wonwoo and recognise only a stranger with his face.

wonwoo sucks in a breath, his eyes pinned to mingyu, still and unwavering. 

“ _it is you._ ” he says, voice low and wrecked. “it’s you and your hair, and your stupid face, and your complete lack of personal space. the way you look at me even when everyone can see.”

mingyu flinches, hands curling loosely in an automatic self-defense measure. 

“it's you. and the way you... how you drive me crazy with. with how much i want to touch you. all the time.” 

mingyu can't breathe. wonwoo's stumbling over his words, phrases mismatched and gaps in his sentences,  _he means it_. mingyu lifts his gaze to meet wonwoo's eyes, and his chest stammers an involuntary reaction with what he sees there. 

“ _hyung._ ”

mingyu shifts, a slow, deliberate advance that’s electric from the first movement, crowding into wonwoo’s space until there’s nothing left between them but a single gasp of air. except he’s always belonged here; he laid claim to every inch of wonwoo without ever kissing him  _long_ before he ever knew he wanted him.

“i thought — ” he stops, inhaling slowly, tentatively as if one wrong move will shatter the moment entirely. “i thought it was just me. i thought i was the only one who felt it.”

wonwoo makes a broken noise at the back of his throat, features crumpling. “of course it wasn’t just you. i’ve always —i’ve wanted you since before i can even remember.”

mingyu breathes out, his first real breath since they started this, and closes the distance between them, his forehead pressing against wonwoo’s and his pulse loud enough in his ears for wonwoo to hear it too, surely.

“i never thought i’d ever hear you say that.” his voice scrapes low against the base of his throat, quiet with the gravity of every word and what it means.

wonwoo lifts a hand to cup mingyu’s face, long fingers splaying against his cheek, his cheekbone, his jaw. the pad of his thumb just barely hovering over his lips. 

“well it’s true. i want you. _i want you so much_ it. — i think about it. all the time.” wonwoo hesitates, the arches of his cheekbones warming with a subtle flush. “i think about  _you_ all the time.”

“ _wonwoo._ ” there’s a tremor in his throat threatening to shake him apart at his foundations. 

“mingyu.” wonwoo echoes, fingers shifting up to curl through his hair. 

“can i — ” mingyu’s throat locks, the words tangling in his mouth with equal parts fear and equal parts elation. _exhilaration._ “can i kiss you?” 

wonwoo’s answer is the tilt of his head, the slant of his chin so that when mingyu leans forwards to kiss him, their lips sliding together in a blaze of soft heat. all of mingyu's questions blur into the sear of their lips, wonwoo's mouth on his the one and only answer that matters. 

 

 

\-----

 

 

for all intents and purposes, a wonwoo that is openly and explicitly no longer in denial about not liking mingyu isn't all that different from an ordinary wonwoo. he's still playfully mischievous, with a sense of humour that translates to equal parts deviousness and fondness when it comes to the object of his affections. he still teases mingyu the same amount, ignoring his advances only to chase him behind the cameras and wrap both arms around his broad shoulders.

mingyu doesn't doubt wonwoo's feelings for him, even when he acts or says otherwise with his sharp tongue, and sharper wit. not when he grabs his hand when the cameras are off and pulls him into the closest empty space they can find and kisses him until mingyu's face is tinged in a permanent blush.

the truth is, wonwoo knows mingyu likes skinship, and public displays of affection, and small praises. he knows, above all, that mingyu just likes  _him_ , really, really likes him, and that a word or a touch or the smallest of kisses can make him light up like the sun.

they fall back into their old patterns of fondness, of touching each other distractedly with the cameras off, and of being constantly near each other, gravitating towards the other regardless of where they are even on camera. sometimes, wonwoo will let him cling a little more at a fansign, or let him play with his hair while filming a vlive, will let mingyu stick a heart labelled  _my boyfriend_ on him during a radio interview. as for wonwoo himself, he makes a habit out of small, and simple things. 

“you just let me have the first bite of your jajangmyeon. _oh my god_ , you _do_ like me,” mingyu crows through a mouthful of food. wonwoo pinches him in the side, but lets him eat, content just to see mingyu grinning happily about something so small and easily given.

he presses his fingers to the back of mingyu's neck, subtly stroking against the ends of his hair where no one can see when he leans over him to read something during a broadcast.

he leaves his game on pause to kiss mingyu when he's whining beside him, attempting aegyo to get his hyung's attention. tells him  _he's cute_ , and lets mingyu curl up beside him as he goes back to his game.

“wow, hyung. you almost just died because you were so distracted from me kissing you,” mingyu mumbles sleepily, playing idly with the drawstring of wonwoo's hoodie. “'s cute that you like me so much.”

“ _idiot_ ,” wonwoo chuckles, placing his hand over mingyu's entire face. mingyu leans his face up, licking a broad stripe across wonwoo's hand, because  _of course_ he can’t resist the urge. wonwoo curses, wiping his hand against mingyu's shoulder and yanking his headphones off mid-game. mingyu lets out a startled laugh, scrambling to dart away before wonwoo can tackle him into the ground.

“ _ahh_ , hyung!” mingyu giggles, sputtering aroung his laughter as wonwoo sprawls on top of him, thighs trapping him underneath him and his arms barred against his chest. “ _hyung_ , you — ” mingyu yelps, flailing at wonwoo's wandering hands. “ _wonwoo-hyung_ what are we going to do —  _ahh_ , wait! no! — you're so  _in love with me_.”

mingyu groans as wonwoo tugs at his hair, leaning forwards to bite at the sensitive place between his throat and his jaw. after that, mingyu doesn't open his mouth much except to let out a gasp. 

 

 

\-----

 

 

wonwoo likes to wear mingyu’s things with the express purpose of tormenting mingyu. at least mingyu’s pretty sure that’s his end goal, because watching the ends of his favourite sweater dangling way past wonwoo’s wrists and leaving just the edges of his fingers poking out from the sleeves is honestly driving mingyu insane.

he looks so damn _cute_ that it’s taking every shred of self-control not to tug wonwoo onto the bed and kiss him senseless.

wonwoo pads over to the side of the bed, setting his glasses on mingyu’s bedside table. minghao’s graciously vacated the room for the night, even though mingyu had sworn they wouldn’t have done anything inappropriate if he’d stayed.

(“yeah, like i’m going to believe _that_. you eyefuck wonwoo in public at every possible opportunity and that’s just when you _know_ people are looking.”)

mingyu curls around wonwoo the moment he settles into the bed, legs sliding around wonwoo’s and his arm coming to rest against his chest.

“you’re wearing one of my sweaters again,” he murmurs into wonwoo’s ear, breath grazing teasingly against his skin.

“it’s comfortable. and this colour looks better on me than on you.” 

“you should keep it then,” mingyu replies. he’s not going to dispute that; wonwoo looks good in _every_ colour.

“that would defeat the purpose,” wonwoo mutters. he tucks himself closer against mingyu’s chest, his hand settling on top of mingyu’s.

“of what?”

“it smells like you.” wonwoo speaks so softly mingyu almost misses it. mingyu’s face breaks into a grin, he dips to press his face against wonwoo’s neck in an attempt to hide his laugh.

“you’re cute,” he breathes, tightening his grip around wonwoo’s waist. “how are you this ridiculously cute?”

“if you don’t stop talking i’m going to take it off,” wonwoo threatens.

mingyu chuckles, and wonwoo seems to realise what he’s said because he growls and slaps at his arm. “by all means, _please_ do.”

“shut up, i hate you.” mingyu just laughs, nuzzling his nose against the back of wonwoo’s neck and breathing slowly in.

“it’s okay, hyung. i get it. i like the way you smell, too.”

“i _still_ hate you.”

“no,” mingyu smiles. “you don’t.”

wonwoo doesn’t say anything for a moment, just picks up mingyu’s hand and traces his fingertips over the pads of mingyu’s fingers, running them over his palm. he laces his fingers with mingyu’s, curling them slowly, tightly, against each other with an aching softness. and mingyu — mingyu is never going to get tired of this.

“say it again,” he whispers into the quiet and the dark between them.

“say what?” 

“tell me how much you like me,” mingyu persists. 

“absolutely not.” wonwoo’s voice is low, playful as he shuffles from their current position to lie on his back, tugging away from mingyu’s arms. mingyu sighs, rolling over onto his side and shifting so he’s facing the other way. it’s vaguely uncomfortable, and definitely impractical, to still have his fingers entertwined with wonwoo’s, but it’s becoming more and more impossible for him to fall asleep without wonwoo’s touch.

he runs hotter than wonwoo, it’s unrealistic to expect him to want to sleep wrapped up by mingyu’s arms every night. that doesn’t mean he’s not going to sulk about it.

mingyu feels wonwoo’s body move before he speaks. “mingyu-yah,” wonwoo calls softly, gently manouevring their joined hands so he can lower himself down right behind mingyu’s turned back.

“i like you,” wonwoo says, openly, _honestly_ , legs tangling with mingyu’s and his entire body draping around mingyu’s. “i like you a lot.” 

“i like you so much sometimes i don’t know what to do with myself.” 

mingyu flushes, his skin warming everywhere that wonwoo’s touching him. mingyu tugs their hands over him so that wonwoo has his arm curled around mingyu’s waist.

“when… when did you know? that you liked me?”

mingyu strokes his thumb across the skin of wonwoo’s hand, marvelling at how lucky he is, how _incredible_ it is to have wonwoo like this. to be the one wonwoo chooses to want.

“from the first moment i met you. when you smiled that big, toothy smile at me and asked if i’d eaten yet.”

mingyu makes a soft, strained noise in the back of his throat. _wonwoo’s never told him this before._ slowly, he brings wonwoo’s fingers up to his lips and grazes a kiss across his knuckles. he loosens their fingers, sliding his hand out from under wonwoo’s so he can brush a kiss against the centre of wonwoo’s palm.

“i liked you, too, hyung. i _always_ liked you.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

during one of the rare breaks they've been given by the company to relax and spend time with family and friends, they go to changwon. mingyu's eager for wonwoo to show him his childhood home, the places he knew and loved growing up. he's excited to meet his friends, and to see wonwoo's parents and younger brother again.

it's liberating to have the freedom to wander around the streets of the city without crowds of fans immediately recognising them thanks to the entourage of a dozen members and staff with them.

wonwoo takes him to an old secondhand bookshop he used to go to at least once a week, one of those timeless, secret places that seems to have fallen out of the faded pages of a storybook. 

the shopkeeper, a kindly ahjumma with crow's feet and laugh lines that wrinkle deeply as she smiles, recognises wonwoo. she marvels at how tall he's gotten before enquiring about whether he's still reading a lot.

mingyu treats the bookshop like sacred ground, treading carefully and keeping his hands close to himself in case of any threats of danger. wonwoo sees him sidestepping a long pile of antique books and laughs to himself with a hand playfully covering his mouth. there's a small windowseat, not really large enough for two grown men to sit comfortably, but they manage, mingyu's never-ending legs tucked beside wonwoo.

the ahjumma brings them tea and homemade ricecakes, much to their gracious insistence that they've just had lunch. they thank her for her generosity, complimenting her on her cooking skills and how delicious the food is, much to her delight. wonwoo's arm is stretched around the back of the windowseat and mingyu is almost sprawled across his lap. in the late afternoon sun, their tangled limbs and natural faces are dusted in gold. as they eat, the ahjumma considers them quietly, head tilted to one side. 

“such handsome boys. you look very good together, did you know that?”

mingyu glances over at wonwoo, smile rising like daybreak to light his whole face. he curls back against wonwoo's side, his shoulder pressed against his chest, hand finding wonwoo's and lacing together where no one else can see but them.

“yeah,” wonwoo says, his smile soft and sunlit as he looks at mingyu. “we do.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> me thinking about the concept of this fic: a quick, hard and fast glorified pwp based off the iconic xx stage.
> 
> what i actually ended up writing: 15k of mostly pure soft bullshit. i'm mad because it was supposed to be written in a single night but y'all got a whole (non-)chronological saga of meanie throughout the years instead. 
> 
> kudos if you can spot all the references! lmk, by the way, if you'd be interested in an extended author's notes about all of the specific things mentioned, because part of the reason why this took ten times longer than anticipated to write was the amount of research (if u can call watching hundreds of meanie youtube videos and trawling the pages of onehallyu research lmao) i had to do re: actual meanie moments / quotes / interviews. 
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/bisexualgyu) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/gyuwu).


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